Trenz Pruca

My Memoir in honor of Taliesin

I have been many things
before becoming who I am.
I have been a youth callow and yearning.
I have been a worker eager and hopeful.
I have been a leader forceful and dynamic.
I have been a lover gentle and callous.
I have been a father caring and failing.
I have become old and wrapped in my memories.

 

I have assumed a multitude of shapes
before becoming wrinkled and huddled beside the fire.
I have been strong and nimble like a young deer.
I have been blackened by sweat and toil.
I have been dressed in the finest clothing
my belly full of the best foods and drink..
I have been deranged by passion and drained in despair.
I have been covered in a child’s tears and puke.
I have been all these and many others but soon I will
become just a memory and then no more.

 

 

Comments4

  • Goldfinch60

    But you will be remembered. I too have been through many years and gone through many of the things that you describe but we are both still here and I intend to go on for a great deal longer.

    Andy

    • Trenz Pruca

      Thank you Andy. I expect I do too.

    • L. B. Mek

      outside of the last two lines, there is a balance of multiply angled interpretations from the unblinkered introspection that have produced this brave portrait of the reflection - you have outlined of yourself, I can imagine looking back at these words at a later date will be a fulfilling landmark, in that commonly yearned journey for self-realisation,
      Happy Birthday and best wishes for the year ahead

    • Lorna

      This is a bit heart wrenching........good one.

      • Trenz Pruca

        Thank you. Memories are often heart wrenching,

      • jarcher54

        As Goldfinch suggests, you'll be remembered as much as the greatest lords and ladies. Memory is a collective, and you've made things of beauty here and probably in your life at large that will leave ripples for ages. Maybe you'll be remembered faintly and mythically, like Taliesin himself. I love poems that are thumbnail biographies, and this one is as wistful and intense as they come. Your piece reminds me of Omar Khayyam's quattrain:

        Think, in this batter’d Caravanserai
        Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
        How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
        Abode his Hour or two and went his way.



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